


under pressure

by tartymoriarty



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Dom/sub, Fisting, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Sex, Spanking, ding ding ding ding-ding-ding-ding, hoo boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-11-02 11:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartymoriarty/pseuds/tartymoriarty
Summary: Freddie, across the room and whispering in Bowie’s ear, looks up, directly at Brian. The moment their eyes meet, Freddie smirks.And Brian realises.Freddie is absolutely doing this on purpose.





	under pressure

**Author's Note:**

> Credit and/or blame to [freddie-mercurial](https://freddie-mercurial.tumblr.com/) for this, I was Enabled.
> 
> I'm back on my bullshit with tumblr [here](https://rhapsodicalfreddie.tumblr.com/) if you want endless reblogs of Freddie gifs and me tagging countless text posts 'same'

On the surface, it’s a great idea. Brian can appreciate that. He’s an incredible artist, there’s no contesting it, and they all hold him in high esteem. If he’s honest, Brian thinks there’s still a tiny bit of that old awe lingering; as though all the success can’t quite wipe away the sense of who they were, before everything, when they were still a student band tripping over their own feet to try and get his attention, because he had _Space Oddity_ in the charts whilst they had nothing.

It’s not just the success, though. It’s the _talent_. Even before his star began to rise there was something about him, and Brian can still remember the way Freddie had enthused about him after he visited Ealing Art School and played a solo gig in the canteen there, a total unknown with a distinctive deep voice and a challenge in the way he stood, the way he dressed, the way he sang. Even Roger had gone a bit starry-eyed when he visited the stall one weekend shortly after his first Top of the Pops appearance.

All in all, he supposes, that sort of reverence is hard to shake. Even when you’ve got number one hits and gold discs and more fame than you want.

Even when you’re Freddie Mercury, apparently, because Freddie has been _fussing_ over Bowie all evening and it is starting to get on Brian’s nerves.

He doesn’t say anything – can’t say anything. It would be rude, it would be uncalled for. Freddie isn’t doing anything wrong. Nor is Bowie. So Brian keeps his mouth closed.

It doesn’t help that he knows the exact look Roger would give him, the arch of Deaky’s eyebrow if he did happen to mutter a comment or an aside. He knows how they would glance at each other and what they would murmur to themselves, amused: _jealous_.

He’s not jealous. He’s not. Just because Freddie is hanging off Bowie’s every word, just because he’d jumped at the opportunity to make music with Bowie with an eagerness that had startled Brian – because they’ve never worked with anyone else like this, they’ve never _needed_ to work with anyone else. It’s always been just them, at the heart of their music; the four of them, as it should be.

So no, he’s not jealous. It certainly doesn’t bother him that Freddie is looking at Bowie with a hint of the same old awe that used to shine from a 23-year-old Freddie’s eyes, once upon a time.

It’s hidden now, for the most part, covered up under carefully painted layers of _I’m a rock star myself now_, and _we aren’t nobodies anymore_ and _I’m Freddie fucking Mercury, dear_. It’s only because Brian knows him so well that he can see past all that, right through to the core of Freddie, where he’s still an insecure kid with huge dreams and a secret terror that they might never happen.

Brian sort of wants to get hold of Freddie and remind him that those dreams _did_ happen, that he _is_ a a rock star; that he doesn’t need to fall over himself to please Bowie because Bowie is surely just as pleased to work with _him_. He wants to, but he doesn’t, because he knows it’s ridiculous, and he knows Freddie would only be annoyed and probably mildly offended by it.

He can already hear Freddie’s retort, even in his imagination.

“It’s not _fussing_, Brian, I’m making him _welcome_ as our guest!”

And that would be that; Freddie would give him the cold shoulder for the rest of the evening and Brian would inevitably end up on the back foot, trying to win his way back into Freddie’s good graces.

Granted, he’s generally quite good at that, especially where sex is involved, but still.

So he keeps his mouth shut through all the ‘what if we – ‘ and the ‘wouldn’t it be amazing if we both – ‘ conversations, through an impromptu dinner at the new Italian that has opened a few streets away, and all the way back to the studio too.

Then, when they’re back at the studio and it becomes apparent that Bowie is definitely here to stay, he can’t hold it any longer. He’s in the sound booth alone with Roger whilst Deaky plays his new bassline for Freddie and Bowie, and Mack and the others have sensed that it’s going to be a long night and have gone to grab a coffee. There’s no-one to overhear.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it,” Brian says, at last. He’s going for a light, airy, ‘I’m not really bothered’ tone. From the sideways look Roger shoots him, he has not particularly succeeded.

“What do you mean?”

“All this.” Brian waves a hand through the screen. He glances at the others, watching as Freddie throws back his head to laugh at something Bowie has just said.

Roger is silent for a beat or two. When Brian looks back at him, he looks exactly as Brian had known he would: unsurprised, a little bit amused, a little bit more exasperated.

“I know it’s not your thing, Bri, but I really think we’re onto something,” he says bluntly. “He’s brilliant, you know that.”

“I know, I never said he’s not,” Brian says, prickling at the suggestion. “I just don’t see why we need him. Or want him. He’s not _Queen_.”

“You mean you don’t see why Freddie wants him,” Roger says.

“That’s not what I – ”

“Oh come off it, you’re about as subtle as a bulldozer. You’ve been looking at Fred like you want to peel him off Bowie whenever they come within a foot of each other. And like you want to do a lot of other stuff to him, but I’m not even going to go there, ‘cause I’ve been scarred for life enough times by you two already.”

Brian grits his teeth but he can’t deny what he knows is true – he’s not that good at hiding his frustration, and Freddie has laughed at him enough times for it.

Still, just because he’s frustrated does not mean he’s jealous.

“It’s not about Freddie,” he says stubbornly. “Or even me and Freddie. It’s about _Queen_.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Roger says idly, picking up a beer.

So Brian does.

He tells himself he’s not jealous when Bowie suggests adding some finger snaps to John’s bassline and Freddie gets excited about it, or when Freddie suggests an opening line and sings it for them and Bowie watches him, eyes dark and intense.

He tells himself slightly more firmly that he’s not jealous when Bowie starts talking about themes and lyrics – it’s not at _all_ how they work and Brian wishes Freddie would put his foot down and tell him no, that’s not how _Queen_ do it – and Freddie nods along, intrigued and enthusiastic about this new method. About Bowie.

It’s a bit easier when they start vocalising, because they’re not in the same room at that point. They’ve decided to each leave the room whilst the other improvises, to see what they come up with. Brian relaxes when Bowie leaves the room, and then when he comes back and Freddie leaves instead, Brian takes the opportunity to go and grab a few moments alone with Freddie outside.

“Hi darling,” Freddie says when Brian joins him. He turns away a bit so that he’s not blowing the smoke from his cigarette towards Brian and flashes him a quick smile. “You’re quiet tonight.”

Brian shrugs. “Not really my thing,” he says honestly.

Freddie just nods, accepting that. “I think it could be really good, when we’ve worked it all out.”

Brian sort of wants to ask ‘who’s we’, but he bites it back. It’s not Freddie’s fault that Brian is… frustrated.

“You’re sounding good,” he says instead, “really strong.”

Freddie smiles at him again. He stubs his cig out and steps closer to Brian; Brian takes the hint and wraps his arms around him. He drops a kiss on top of Freddie’s head and holds him close for a moment, breathing him in.

Freddie stays there for a while, then squirms free and leans back a bit to glance up at Brian. He looks ever so slightly quizzical. “Are you sure you’re alright, darling? You seem a bit… off.”

Brian just gives him a little squeeze before he lets him go. “I’m fine.”

Freddie eyes him, then stretches up onto his tiptoes and goes in for a kiss. Brian kisses him back, expecting it to be quick and chaste before Freddie returns to the studio, but apparently that’s not what Freddie has in mind.

It’s a long, slow kiss, Freddie’s hand tightening in Brian’s curls at the nape of his neck; when Brian settles his hands on Freddie, one on his waist, one lowering down to his hip, he can feel the way Freddie has to stretch up as far as he can to even be able to do that. It sends a shiver through Brian. He can’t resist: he pulls his mouth away from Freddie’s, ignoring his indignant sound, and instead presses his lips to Freddie’s neck, sucking a little mark into the warm skin there. Freddie shudders under him.

When Brian pulls back, he feels somewhat better about the situation. Freddie’s mouth looks pink and kissed and the hickey Brian has left is small, but it does the job.

He brushes a thumb over it, pleased with himself.

“Better?” Freddie asks.

Brian glances back down at him. He’s watching Brian with an arched brow.

“A bit,” Brian accepts, though he’s not going to admit what he feels better about.

He follows Freddie back into the studio and does his best to act normal about the whole set-up, though he can’t help but twitch a bit when Freddie leans in unnecessarily close to Bowie to look at the lyrics they’re scribbling between them.

He thinks there is a small chance that he might be a _tiny_ bit jealous when Freddie lays a hand on Bowie’s arm and tells him how _marvellous_ his last set of vocals were. Maybe. Perhaps. Just a very, very tiny bit.

The song is taking shape, anyway, and Brian appreciates John’s catchy bassline and he thinks some of the vocals really do sound great, but it could be so much _better_ if they’d just approach it from a slightly more rock-orientated angle – but _everyone_ shoots him down when he tries to press the issue, even Roger.

Brian tries not to sulk as the song drifts further and further away from him, but it’s hard. He likes control, he’s never pretended otherwise; he’s gone head-to-head with Freddie for creative control over a song more times than he can count, bickered with Roger and clashed with John. There’s something a bit _off_ about butting heads with Bowie in the same way, though.

He supposes there is something to be said for the fact that he’s their guest, here. Brian knows Bowie well enough to know that this song isn’t going to be _Queen_ featuring David Bowie, but rather _Queen_ and David Bowie, equally combined. They’re not exactly hosting him because he uses these studios too, when he’s in Switzerland for work rather than leisure, and yet something about the set-up – Queen’s techies, their equipment everywhere, the four of them bouncing ideas around with Bowie in the middle of them – does, undeniably, feel like they have to be on their best behaviour for him.

So Brian gets quieter, his jaw gets tighter and his eyes get narrower, and he is forced to accept that perhaps the tiny bit of jealousy is something slightly more.

He becomes aware, at one point, that Freddie is watching him with a thoughtful expression. When Brian looks up and meets his gaze, Freddie just gives him a little smile and looks away again – back at Bowie, of bloody course. Brian suppresses a huff. At this point, with the clock nearing 11pm, even the little hickey on the crook of Freddie’s neck can’t cheer him up.

“ – don’t you think, Bri?”

Brian snaps back to reality at the use of his name. Freddie is looking at him expectantly. They all are.

“I said,” says Freddie, and Brian relaxes a bit in relief, glad that Freddie is taking pity on him, “I think David is really bringing something fresh to this song, don’t you agree?”

So much for pity.

Brian nods anyway, flashing Bowie an admittedly tense smile. “It’s different,” he says.

Bowie doesn’t seem perturbed. He just gets straight back to business with a, “Freddie, I was thinking…” and then their heads are ducked back down together over the lyrics, black and dark blonde side-by-side.

There’s nothing for him to do with them hogging the papers like that, and Roger and Deaky are engrossed in their own conversation, so Brian stalks off to get a beer. When he brings it back, Bowie is making some off-hand comment about the innuendo in some line or another and Freddie gives a little shout of laughter just as Brian passes him, then pats Bowie’s arm.

“You’re so _funny_, dear,” he says, fondly. “Brian, darling, listen to this – ”

“I already heard,” Brian says, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Really funny.”

Bowie gives him a questioning look at that, which makes Brian wince inwardly. He feels like a bit of an arse, but he can’t help it, he really can’t. It’s almost like Freddie is baiting him on purpose.

He goes over to his old lady just for something to do and does his best to ignore whatever Bowie said this time which is so funny it can make Freddie laugh like that, or whatever he did to make Freddie literally hang off his arm, or –

Freddie, across the room and whispering in Bowie’s ear, looks up, directly at Brian. The moment their eyes meet, Freddie smirks.

And Brian realises.

Freddie is absolutely doing this on purpose.

Brian stares at him, taken by surprise even as some part of him tiredly points out that he really shouldn’t be surprised.

Freddie looks away first, back at whatever he’s doing with Bowie. Brian tries to go back to – to whatever he was doing with the Red Special. He can’t. He tries to strum out a few chords but winces at the noise that comes out, ugly and distracted. John glances at him from across the studio.

Brian determinedly does not look at Freddie to check his reaction.

There’s peace for a while, until Freddie inevitably decides that said peace has lasted too long. The pair of them have been playing about with what they’ve got so far and Freddie calls everyone over to have a listen.

Brian stands behind John and listens whilst they play the track. It’s good. He can (grudgingly) admit that. It’s not as good as it could be, but for a track in such early stages, it’s got… something.

“David, you sound just _wonderful_,” Freddie coos.

Brian is fairly sure there is a vein pulsing in his own forehead. He tries his best to will it away.

“And those finger snaps,” Freddie continues, glancing slyly up at Brian even as he leans in and gives Bowie’s arm another fucking pat, “such a good idea, dear, they add so much.” He turns his face fully up to Brian and smiles at him, all sweetness and light. “Don’t they, Bri?”

“They’re fantastic,” Brian says. He’s pleased to note that his voice sounds calm, now. Possibly because the realisation that Freddie is playing with him has got him thinking about all the different ways he can make Freddie pay for this.

“It’s sounding really good, but I’m going to call it a night now,” John announces. “Anyone else?”

“Yep,” says Roger, popping the ‘p’ and hauling himself to his feet. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’m shattered.” He glances at the clock on the wall behind them and then says, “Christ, I thought it was about midnight, when did it get to 2am?”

“I work better at night,” Bowie says without looking up. “I’ll stay.”

Freddie glances at Bowie, then at Brian.

Brian looks back at him steadily.

Freddie has told him, several times, that he has very expressive eyes. Brian tries to utilise them now. He does his very best to radiate _don’t you dare,_ his eyes fixed on Freddie.

Freddie grins at him, curling his tongue over his teeth. “I think I’ll stay too. I’ll join you later,” he says sweetly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Brian takes a deep breath. He imagines, just for a brief moment, exactly how he would like to punish Freddie; soothes himself with the knowledge that soon enough Freddie will be squirming under him and making all the lovely sounds he only ever makes for Brian.

“Not at all,” he says.

He stalks off outside, needing some fresh air, but more to the point, needing to get away from the dream team of Bowie-and-Freddie. He hails a cab back to the hotel whilst Roger and John trail behind him.

“My room is next to theirs,” he hears John say, mournfully.

“So? Freddie’s staying,” says Roger.

“My room will still be next to theirs when David is gone, though. Can you imagine what it’ll be like when Freddie gets back – wait, forget I said that. I don’t want to imagine.” There’s a pause. “Oh god, I’m imagining.”

“So am I,” moans Roger.

Brian ignores them both and gets into the cab, moving up to make room. He stews all the way back to the hotel, back to his and Freddie’s suite. He stews in bed and he watches the clock as the hours tick by.

They continue to tick by. Freddie, it seems, has decided that _later_ means he’s not coming back at all tonight.

Oh, Brian is going to make him pay for this.

-

They’ve all but finished the song by the time Brian gets in the next morning. He resists the urge to get there really early, though he wants, badly, to go into the studio and drag Freddie out of it already.

He didn’t get much sleep at all, so he can’t win on that front; Freddie is going to take one look at his face and know that Brian has been seething after him for most of the night. So he decides to make Freddie wait a little bit himself, knowing he’ll be impatient to see Brian, especially now that the fun of his little evening game has worn off and he’s probably starting to think about the consequences.

Brian gets to the studio just before noon. Everyone else is there already. He goes and gets a coffee first, and then he spends a while chatting with Mack and one of the sound engineers. He’s aware of Freddie in his peripheral vision, though Freddie’s got his back to him; he’s also aware of the moment that Freddie turns and spots him.

Brian ignores him. He can feel Freddie’s eyes on him, though, all the way through his conversation with Mack.

Freddie’s never good at waiting things out when he’s the one being made to stew, so it’s not long before he comes sidling up to Brian’s side. He looks tired, like the night is catching up with him. Brian knows him. There will have been a manic period in the middle of it all, where Freddie was swept along by the music and the tension and his little game, and now that’s all faded and Freddie is left like this; blinking hard, his gaze a little bleary, and also a little bit nervous.

Good, Brian thinks. Let him be nervous. He’s earned it.

“Hi darling,” Freddie says softly as Mack is drawn away into another conversation, leaving just the two of them.

Brian glances down at him. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he murmurs, “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

He sees Freddie swallow, but before he can say anything else, someone starts to play the track as it is now.

They’ve certainly been hard at work over the course of the night; Brian isn’t too proud to admit that the song sounds good, even if it’s not exactly how he would have done it. He listens and nods and congratulates Bowie and Freddie on their work.

Bowie leaves not long after. John and Roger start working on something else; neither of them are surprised in the slightest when Brian makes his and Freddie’s excuses whilst Freddie hovers behind him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It’s a totally different Freddie to the one who tormented him last night and Brian loves all versions of Freddie, he does, but he can’t help but be a bit smug now that he’s got this one all to himself at last.

When Freddie sinks into the backseat of the cab beside him, Brian asks, “How tired are you?”

Freddie looks sideways at him but Brian keeps on looking ahead. “Quite tired,” Freddie says after a moment.

He sounds a bit hoarse, which is unsurprising. Brian just nods. “I’m going to order room service,” he says, still not looking at Freddie, “and I want you to go and have a shower or a bath or whatever you’d like. Don’t bother with clothes, I’ll leave your dressing gown on the door for you. The food will be ready for you by the time you’re done and you’re going to eat something.”

“I’m not that – ”

“You’re going to eat something,” Brian continues, undeterred. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Freddie mutters.

“Good. Then you’re going to get some sleep – ”

“Brian – ”

Brian turns to face him, raising one eyebrow. “Are you really going to argue with me right now, Freddie?”

Freddie ducks his head, fidgeting in the seat beside him. “No, Brian.”

“Good,” Brian repeats. “As I said. Have a wash, eat something, and sleep.” He pauses, because he knows Freddie is waiting on tenterhooks to hear what’s next. “I’ll decide what to do about your behaviour in the meantime.”

“You say that like you don’t know already,” Freddie mutters.

Brian flashes him a dark smile. “I know some of it,” he says, and he has to fight off a grin at the way Freddie’s cheeks colour at that.

Freddie is quiet for the rest of the journey, which Brian really isn’t surprised about, because he’s been awake for far too long as it is. He does as he’s been told when they get up to their suite; the fact that he chooses a shower when Brian knows he prefers baths says a lot to Brian about how tired he actually is.

Brian doesn’t go overboard with the room service because he knows what Freddie is like – he never does eat a lot at the best of times. When Freddie comes out of the bathroom, damp-haired and bundled in his fluffy white dressing gown, Brian just points at the tray he’s left on the bed. Freddie sits down without complaint and eats a couple of sandwiches and some fruit, and drinks some iced water.

“Good boy,” Brian murmurs.

Freddie just glances at him and then moves the tray from the bed onto the sideboard, tugging back the duvet so that he can get in bed. He shrugs off the dressing gown before he slides under the covers and Brian doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes roam over Freddie’s body, hungry.

It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep and once he’s gone he’s out like a light. Brian clears away the remains of the food and the tray and contemplates having a nap himself, but decides against it; he feels too wide awake, too wired at the anticipation of what is coming.

By the time Freddie wakes a couple of hours later, Brian has had plenty of time to consider exactly what he wants to do. He’s reading a book over on the other side of the room, facing Freddie, when he hears Freddie’s breathing change.

Freddie stretches out and then cracks his eyes open, blinking away sleep to focus on Brian.

“Afternoon,” Brian says.

“What time is it?” Freddie asks, sitting up slowly.

“About five,” Brian says. “Feel better?”

Freddie nods. There’s the same anticipation in his eyes that Brian can feel in every inch of his own body and he loves it.

“Come here,” Brian says.

Freddie reaches automatically for his dressing gown but stops himself with his fingers just shy of it, correctly realising that Brian isn’t going to want him clothed for quite a while. He’s already a bit hard when he pushes back the covers and stands up, coming over to Brian. He stops about a metre or so away.

Brian puts his book down and spreads his legs, then taps his knee.

Freddie flushes at the implication even though they’ve done this countless times before and they both get off on it. It’s something about the act of bending over Brian’s knee, Brian thinks, that’s almost more submissive then the act of actually letting Brian spank him. Brian usually helps position him but he doesn’t this time, letting Freddie squirm about as he settles himself over Brian’s spread knees.

Brian puts his hand on Freddie’s ass and gives a little hum. “How many do you think you deserve?” he asks curiously.

“Don’t know,” Freddie says, his voice muffled.

“How about we add up all the things you did, hm? There’s the unnecessary flirting, that’s worth five, don’t you think? Dragging David into it when he had no idea what you were up to, another five. Five for deliberately provoking me, I think… oh, and there’s the matter of you not coming back last night, how many do you think you deserve for that?”

“Five?” Freddie suggests, already breathless.

Brian laughs. “More like ten for that one, I think. That’s twenty five, Freddie, I want you to count them all, okay?”

“Okay,” Freddie whispers.

Brian waits for a second, then lifts his hand and brings it down hard on Freddie’s ass. Freddie sucks in a sharp breath and says, shakily, “One.”

Brian spanks him again, watching as marks begin to form already on Freddie’s skin. A third and a fourth and he can just about make out a handprint, emblazoned across Freddie’s ass. Freddie hisses when Brian spreads his hand over it and presses down gently to feel the heat against his palm.

Brian moves onto his thighs, delivering two sharp slaps to each. Freddie’s particularly sensitive there, always has been, and he gasps at each strike. He forgets to count the ninth and Brian waits pointedly until Freddie catches up and mumbles the number.

Brian’s not surprised he’s distracted; he can feel Freddie hard against his thigh. Freddie can’t see him, so he doesn’t hide his grin as he spanks him again and again, watching with relish as Freddie’s ass turns red under his stinging palm.

By the time they reach twenty, Brian’s hand is aching so he can only imagine what Freddie’s ass feels like. There are handprints all over his skin, along the curve of his ass and down across his thighs. Freddie is going to feel this every time he sits down for the next few days and the knowledge makes Brian pause and grapple with his own self-control for a moment or two. He has to reach down and readjust himself, which makes Freddie whine at him in turn.

“Hush,” Brian tells him, bringing his hand down again; Freddie has long since given up trying to hold back any sounds and he yelps out loud. Brian loves those noises so he does it again in the same spot, then twice more on the other cheek.

Freddie is panting by this point, squirming incessantly across Brian’s lap. Brian leans down and blows a gust of cool air across his skin, watching him shiver.

“Freddie,” he murmurs to get his attention. “Freddie, I want you to think about this the next time you decide to try and make me jealous. Okay? Your ass looks like it’s on fire, baby. You think about that, alright?”

He waits until Freddie gives a shaky little nod, and then Brian spanks him for the final time. He shakes his hand, wincing at the sting, but puts his other hand on Freddie’s back to stroke him, murmuring assurances.

“There we go, that’s done now. Come on, let’s sit you up.”

He helps Freddie up, pulling him into Brian’s chest to help take some of the weight off his ass, though Freddie still hisses when his ass comes into contact with Brian’s jeans. Brian kisses his temple and continues to run a soothing hand down Freddie’s back until Freddie’s breath evens out a bit.

Brian draws back to look at him. “Alright, Freddie?” he asks gently.

Freddie closes his eyes and nods, leaning into Brian’s touch. Brian smiles and gives him another quick kiss, then pulls them both to their feet.

“I want you to go and lie down on the bed,” he says. “On your stomach.”

Freddie does as he’s told – slowly, which Brian can’t blame him for. He wriggles around until he’s as comfortable as he can be and sighs a bit into his pillow. Brian hides a smile. Freddie goes so loose and pliable when he’s been spanked, Brian wouldn’t be surprised if Freddie dropped right back off to sleep if Brian left him be for a few minutes.

Brian isn’t going to do that, though. Freddie’s nap earlier gave him the opportunity to get everything he needs ready, so when he climbs onto the bed after Freddie, he’s already got lube in his hand. He gets on top of Freddie, legs on each side of him, and after a glance at the red skin on the back of Freddie’s upper thighs, he settles his own weight a little bit further down than he normally would.

“I’m going to open you up, baby,” Brian tells him, dipping a couple of fingers into the lube. Freddie shifts on the bed, spreading his legs as best he can with Brian already on top of him.

For all Freddie’s apparent sleepiness, he soon becomes more alert when Brian sets to fingering him open; by the time Brian’s got two fingers in him he’s squirming on the bed under Brian, making the soft little noises Brian loves best. Brian leans down and kisses his shoulder blade indulgently, then pulls his hand back for more lube before he slides his fingers back inside, three of them this time.

He knows when he finds Freddie’s prostate because of the sudden jerk Freddie gives beneath him, almost shocked. Brian nudges it again, then withdraws, teasing him. Freddie whines but Brian just chuckles.

“No, baby,” he murmurs. “You were very naughty. You’ve still got some making up to do.” Freddie always reacts so nicely to words, to Brian talking to him like this, so he continues: “There’s something I’ve wanted to do that we’ve never tried before, and seeing as you’ve been so naughty, I thought I should get the chance to try it out. Don’t you agree, baby? I should get to do what I want to you, because you’ve been so bad?”

Freddie groans. Brian can see the way he’s got one hand tangled up in the bedsheets, clenching tight. “Yes, Bri,” he manages to get out, his voice shaky. Brian knows if he slid a hand under Freddie’s belly he’d find him harder than ever.

“Hands and knees, baby,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers free. When Freddie’s dragged his boneless body into cooperation, Brian coats his fingers in more lube, all four of them this time. He slides three back into Freddie, then tucks his little finger in close to the rest and slowly eases that into him as well.

Freddie gasps. Brian leans over to get a look at his face and has to pause again; Freddie’s brow is furrowed, his teeth digging into his bottom lip and his face is nearly as flushed as his ass. Brian is quite sure he has never seen anything hotter in his life.

Except perhaps the way Freddie’s body opens for him, letting him slide all four fingers into the tight heat of him. Brian bites his own lip and swallows hard.

With his free hand, Brian uncaps the lube again and pours it liberally all over his thumb and then the rest of his hand. He leans in closer to Freddie and kisses the nape of his neck again, soothingly, as he draws his fingers almost completely out. He tucks his thumb in as close as he possibly can, then starts to push back inside Freddie.

“Oh god, _Brian_,” Freddie moans, “Brian, fucking hell…”

“I know,” Brian says breathlessly, “I know, baby, you’re doing so well – ”

And he is, he’s taking Brian’s whole hand; there’s a moment when the widest part of Brian’s hand is pressed flush to Freddie’s ass and Freddie shudders under him, but then he relaxes again and Brian’s hand slides fully inside, until he’s got his whole fist curled inside Freddie and Freddie’s ass is unbelievably hot and tight around him.

He kisses Freddie’s neck again, draped over his back. “So good for me, Freddie, baby,” he whispers, reverential. The little noises being pulled from Freddie are quite possibly the best things he’s ever heard and Brian doesn’t ever want them to stop, but he’s also quite keen to fuck Freddie properly and come inside him, so he presses another kiss to Freddie’s back and then begins to slowly ease his hand free, one finger at a time.

It takes a while because he’s being so careful, but he’s not complaining. The way Freddie’s body accommodates him is nothing short of incredible and Brian doesn’t think he could ever tire of the sight.

Freddie collapses back onto his stomach when Brian’s fingers are finally free and Brian can’t resist the urge to just crawl on top of him, holding him possessively close and relishing the feel of their sex-warm skin pressed close together. Brian brushes hair back from Freddie’s face and studies his expression; he looks wrecked already and Brian loves it, he wants to memorise every tiny detail about it from the slackness of his mouth to the way he keeps trying to open his eyes only for them to drift closed again.

“You’ve done well, Freddie,” he murmurs, “I’m going to fuck you now, okay? I’m going to give it to you like you need, fill you up. Because you’re mine, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yours,” Freddie agrees, making an effort to focus on Brian.

“Good boy.” Brian lets go of him and rolls onto his back. Now that he knows he’s finally going to fuck Freddie, he can barely think straight with how much he wants it. His cock is leaking all over his belly and he suspects he won’t last too long but it doesn’t matter, all that matters is Freddie.

“Come on,” he encourages when Freddie hesitates to get on top. He’s all shaky-limbed and it’s sort of adorable. Brian helps him out, though Freddie hisses when Brian grabs him by the hips to manoeuvre him into position; when Brian glances down he sees that his hands are brushing the tender skin of Freddie’s reddened ass and he grins up at him.

“That’s it,” Brian breathes as Freddie lets his legs on each side of Brian and lifts himself up into position. Brian keeps one hand loosely curled around his cock and the other on Freddie as he lines himself up and then sinks down slowly, his thighs trembling with the effort.

The lube-slick warmth of Freddie’s ass makes Brian groan and he tosses his head back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as his hands blindly find Freddie’s hips again. He helps him out because he knows Freddie needs it, lifting and dropping him until they find a shaky rhythm that makes them both pant.

“Fucking hell, Freddie…” Brian reaches up to grasp at Freddie’s neck, pulling him down for a messy open-mouthed kiss. Freddie moans against his lips.

Brian can already feel heat coiling in the pit of his stomach and he just about manages to get his hands back on Freddie’s hips to support him before he comes, losing all sense of rhythm as he fucks up into Freddie’s body and rides out his orgasm with Freddie’s name on his lips.

In the midst of it all, Freddie comes too, his moan cutting off suddenly as he comes all over Brian’s chest and his own stomach. Brian’s only dimly aware of it, too dazed to know anything other than _FreddieFreddieFreddie_.

Freddie is still sprawled panting across his chest, so when he feels capable of functioning even on a basic level, Brian gets an arm around him and carefully pulls out of him, then shifts Freddie until he’s lying next to Brian instead. He kicks off the dirty sheets and pulls Freddie’s abandoned dressing gown closer, using that instead to cover them both up – or cover Freddie up, at least, and much of himself as he can.

“Sleep,” he says and Freddie gives a tired little laugh.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, darling,” he says, sounding every bit as exhausted as Brian feels.

And that’s just too rich, really, so despite the fact that post-orgasm sleep is threatening to drag him under already, Brian huffs a bit. “Makes a change,” he mumbles around a yawn.

Freddie laughs softly and snuggles backwards into Brian’s chest. Brian’s arms tighten around him automatically.

He’s half asleep when the thought strikes, but it still makes him smile a bit into the back of Freddie’s neck. He has no way of knowing if the Bowie/_Queen_ song will make this bloody album, but if it does, he’s fairly sure he knows exactly what will be going through his and Freddie’s minds every time they play it.


End file.
